


Kept Close

by LamiaCalls



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Corpses, Extra Treat, Gen, Mild Blood, Sibling Bonding, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29351733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/pseuds/LamiaCalls
Summary: Immediately after Taryn kills Locke, she sends to her sister for help.
Relationships: Jude Duarte & Taryn Duarte
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Kept Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanishresponse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishresponse/gifts).



> This is a canon divergent AU where, after killing Locke, Taryn sends word to her sister that she needs her help. There are some other minor canon details I futzed with, too.

Taryn pulls her sister inside, eyes searching the darkness for any watching eyes. At least with Jude’s exile, it is likely that if anyone has spotted her, she would have been apprehended. It’s hardly a comfort.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Taryn says, leaning against the wall of the candlelit hallway.

“I came as soon as Viv got your message,” Jude says. “What happened?”

But before Taryn can reply, Jude looks her up and down, and her face changes.

“What did he do to you?” she says, her voice grave, dangerous. Months in the mortal world hasn’t softened her.

“It’s not my blood,” Taryn assures her.

Jude’s eyes flash with something like recognition.

“What happened?” she asks again. Her voice has a new pitch to it. No longer the flint-fire edge to it, now her jaw is set, ready to jump into action.

But Taryn can’t say it. She opens her mouth, but nothing tumbles out. She shakes her head.

“Come with me,” she says.

She wants to grab her sister’s hand and pull her through the house, running like they were kids again, hiding from Madoc’s house guests. But there is no joy here, and Jude feel further away than ever.

So instead, Taryn turns and leads Jude through her home with a steady, purposeful tread. The house is lit only by long tapers in the wall sconces, basking them in yellow glow and flickering shadows. Taryn takes her sister up the sweeping staircase, up to the tower, up to where—where it happened.

She looks back at her sister, who is surveying the place. It’s only then that she remembers, Jude hasn’t been here since Taryn married Locke.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” she says. “I haven’t had a chance to fix it up how I’d like — all the revelries, someone is always messing it up. But I’ve made some nice, new touches, I think.”

Her voice is higher than usual, and she can’t seem to pull it back to its usual pitch. Her skin is prickling with nerves and as they approach the room she left him in, the feeling only intensifies.

Taryn wants to slow down, wants to not get there so fast, but before she knows it, they are outside the door. She puts her hand on the door knob, takes a deep breath. And starts at her sister’s hand upon her shoulder.

“It’ll be okay,” Jude says. “We will deal with it, whatever it is.”

Taryn closes her eyes for a second, lets the words wash over her. Perhaps Jude has already guessed at what lies beyond the doorway. Perhaps she guessed the moment she knew it was not Taryn’s blood. Jude has always been far too clever.

Once she flings the door open, Taryn finds she can’t move beyond the threshold. Jude moves around her, somehow pierces the veil that is stopping Taryn from going any further.

Jude crouches down to inspect him, but Taryn can’t watch.

It’s funny, the rest of the room is barely touched. Just a few books out of place. Their sheets are a crumpled mess. But otherwise? Otherwise…

Of course, she’ll have to replace the carpet. She’s not sure how much— how badly its been soaked. But she hears a soft wet sound when Jude shuffles to get in closer.

“Did he hurt you?” Jude asks.

Taryn blinks, frowns at her sister, then looks away quickly again when her eyes catch sight of the wrong thing.

“He’s—he’s—“ she tries. But she can’t. “No.”

“Good,” Jude breathes.

How that’s her first question, Taryn isn’t sure. If the roles were reversed and Taryn had found a victim of Jude’s…well, Taryn would have a lot more to say and probably a lot less help to give.

“Where are your servants?” Jude says. She’s doing something, moving his clothing from the sound of it.

Taryn shrugs, looks behind her. “Only Vanda went to bed. The others won’t be back ’til morning.”

“You’ll have to help me,” she says. “To move him, I mean.”

Taryn gives a small shake of her head.

“I know you don’t want to, I remember how this feels. I do. But we have to do this. I can’t move him alone.”

“Can’t we get someone to—“

“Taryn,” Jude says firmly.

Taryn sighs.

“Okay. Just. Give me a minute.”

“It’s alright, I need to bandage his wounds.”

“I think it might be a bit late for that,” Taryn says.

She doesn’t need to look to know the expression Jude wears.

“To stop him bleeding all over the rest of your house.” She stands up, back into Taryn’s eye line. Her expression now is grim but determined. The kind of look that used to always scared Taryn, because of what it usually meant. Being on this side of it, though, where Jude is determined to protect her, it is almost comforting. Would be even more so, if he weren’t lying there. “We might need to rip up some clothes for bandages. There is a lot to cover.”

“We have plenty of bandages, no need to ruin anything,” Taryn says, shaking her head. “I’ll get them.”

She leaves quickly, just in case Jude wants to ask _why_ they have so many bandages, _why_ Taryn knows exactly where they are.

The house is quiet, oppressive in the darkness alone. She slips quickly into the master bathroom, to climb up to the shelves to get the huge bundle of bandages down.

She can feel his absence everywhere, even here, as she has done all night, since— since—

There, his straight razor, still open on the sink. Here, his perfumes, smells she had once been charmed by but had come to loathe. Even the clawfoot bathtub, where she had caught him once.

But his cheating had truly been the least of her problems.

She’s glad to get back to her sister.

She throws the pile onto the floor without much ceremony.

“That’ll be enough, won’t it?”

Her sister raises an eyebrow. But then she seems to decide not to say anything, and kneels again.

It doesn’t take her long. Taryn supposes Jude is an expert in this, a fighter at heart, who knows how to repair the damage she causes. To others, to herself. How many injuries has her sister sustained?

How would she have done it, in Taryn’s place?

“He tried to kill me, you know,” Jude says softly.

Taryn looks down, then quickly back up, the image flashes into view for just a second.

“When?”

“It feels like a long time ago now. Tried to run me down, he and some friends of his. I put up a good fight,” she says. There is humour in Jude’s voice, even if Taryn can’t quite find it herself. “Do you think that would have made a good story, for him?”

Taryn sees it now, and smiles for the first time all night. For the first time in a long while.

“I like this story better,” Taryn says.

She wants to reach out, to grip her sister. But even here, even as they share this, she can still feel the gap between them, too far to cross.

For now, at least. Without him in the way, perhaps she can build a bridge.

Though, she can’t pretend Locke is the reason for all their problem. Their father, too. Taryn’s own choices.

She is about to tell her sister that, that she hopes Jude can forgive her, when Jude stands up again.

“This is going to be hard and you might be sick. That’s okay. We’ll take him downstairs, into the garden.” Jude touches Taryn’s arm, so casually, as if the gulf weren’t there at all. Her face is softer than Taryn has ever seen it. “I’m here.”

Taryn nods, her throat too gummed up to speak. Then she clears her throat.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Jude gives an approving nod.

“I would say take the feet but…then you’d be staring at him,” Jude says. “Do you think you’re strong enough to take his shoulders?”

Taryn nods. She’s not actually sure, but anything not to watch his head loll, his eyes on her.

She looks as little as possible as Jude pulls his torso forward so Taryn can jostle herself behind him. She hooks her arms under his shoulders, ignores the wet squelch of her feet on the bloody carpet.

Jude takes his legs, and they hoist him, together.

He’s heavier than she expected. They have to take a break before they’re even out of the room.

She makes the mistake of looking down at him then.

His mouth is open and speckled with blood. His eyes are wide, blood-shot and empty.

She squeezes her eyes closed to stop herself from throwing up.

“We need to keep going, Taryn. Just look at me. Keep looking at me.”

Taryn flicks her eyes open, looks at her sister’s face. A reflection of her own. There is some psychological trick, perhaps, to seeing herself look back so calm and collected. It makes Taryn feel as if she could be that, too.

Somehow, Jude doesn’t break step as they go down the stairs, doesn’t look down, just marches down them with ease down to the bottom floor while Taryn tries to stop herself from stumbling.

“You’re sure Vanda won’t wake?” Jude asks, as they get to the kitchen.

Taryn nods. Vanda never came out to any other sounds. It’s a bitter thought, and she swallows it. It’s over now, isn’t it? There’s no need to worry Jude by saying these things aloud.

They have to stop to put him down so Taryn can unlock the backdoor.

But then they’re through and the night air is crisp and biting. Taryn gulps down lungfuls of it — the first air she’s tasted all night that hasn’t been tinged with copper or the stench of him.

Even in the darkness, Taryn can sees Jude’s eyes, never breaking her gaze, as they walk towards the woods.

“We’ll have to dig a hole,” Jude says, setting him down at the tree-line. “Do you have shovels?”

“I have no idea,” Taryn says, blinking as her eyes adjust to the darkness. She has long wished her eyesight were anything as good as his were.

“Where’s the gardener’s shed?”

Taryn points back, to the side of the house. And before she can object, Jude is bounding off, leaving Taryn, next to the body, alone — with him, with her thoughts.

There aren’t enough noises or smells or tastes in the dark of night. So instead, she looks up, and begins to name the stars in her head — names she knows, making up names for any she doesn’t.

Then she stops.

That’s a game they would play, back when he was courting her in secret. After they had been together, they would lay in the dirt, looking at the stars, and they would make up constellations, stories to go along with them. It was never a long game — he would grow bored after one or two. But at the time, she had thought it the height of romance.

She wonders when she’ll forgive herself for that.

She grits her teeth, eyes pricking with tears, and she’s relieved to see her sister coming back, tools in hand.

“One shovel, one rake,” Jude says, handing the rake to Taryn. “It will have to do.”

She’s not sure why, but Taryn always thought digging a grave would be a job of no consequence. People did it in books without breaking a sweat, didn’t they? But after an hour, even with Jude’s strong hands set to the work, they only get three feet in.

“We have to stop,” Taryn says. She’s on the edge of something — the physical work has exhausted her and she’s almost too tired to stop the thoughts from rushing in like water through a broken dam. “Jude. I can’t do anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” Jude says. “I’ll keep going.”

But Taryn shakes her head. “We need to bury him. _Now_. Please.”

How many nights had she begged him, just like that? Will her sister refuse her too?

“It’s too shallow,” Jude says. She stops, finally bringing an end to the thudding of her shovel, though Taryn knows the noise will stick in her nightmares for years to come. “Wild dogs might dig him up.”

“They can have him,” Taryn says. She spits. She’s never done that before, but it feels right in the moment.

Jude looks like she’s going to argue, and Taryn steels herself. She’s not sure her sister has ever backed down from anything, but Taryn isn’t going to let this one go. She’s tired of bending to other’s wills.

But, to her relief, she nods, eyes shining in the darkness.

Jude takes his legs again, and Taryn his head, and together, they drop him in. He makes a wet thud when he hits the bottom.

Jude takes up her shovel again, ready to pour on earth, and Taryn is happy to watch but—

“Wait,” she says suddenly.

With one shaking step, she moves to the edge of the grave. She takes a deep breath, and looks down.

His hair is matted and now filthy with dirt. He would have hated it. His golden eyes stare up at her. Her first instinct is to flinch away from them, but then she takes a breath. There’s not anything behind them, anymore. No conniving plans or silly tricks. For all his grand schemes and big plays, now he’s just a bag of bones at the bottom of a hastily dug pit.

She gulps down air, suddenly feeling dizzy. Stepping back from the grave’s edge, she nods at her sister, who begins to fill the hole in. Good riddance, she thinks.

She’s not sure when she starts walking back to the house, but she’s at the backdoor before Jude catches up to her, jogging and covered in mud.

They go inside and clean themselves up in silence. Taryn gives Jude one of her dresses, but Jude looks somehow ridiculous in it.

“I’ll stay for as long as you want.” They are standing in the doorway of the room where it happened, looking at the blood-soaked carpet.

Taryn wants to accept the other, more desperately than she can say. But she shakes her head. Through the window, she can see the first fingers of dawn clawing their way up from the night.

“It’ll be hard to stay undetected for that long,” Taryn says.

“But—“

“I’ll be fine,” Taryn says. It feels strange, like perhaps she’s just finding her way back to herself, slowly, and doesn’t recognise those parts of herself anymore. She’s too tired to be sure. “You should go. It’ll be light soon. You can slip away in the dark.”

“I can slip away regardless of the time of day.”

Taryn gives a half-smile. She doesn’t doubt it.

“Go,” she says firmly.

But she’s eternally grateful when her sister embraces her. The soft smell of her hair, of home, mixed with loam, is so comforting and she knows she’ll use this memory to keep her going for a few days. She has missed Jude terribly, she realises suddenly. She misses Vivi, too. Taryn steps back, eventually, when she feels tears welling — if she allows herself to cry now, all is lost.

“Will you at least let me take the knife? I can dispose of it in the mortal world.”

Taryn nods

Jude wraps it in some of her soiled clothes, pushes it into her pack. She pecks Taryn on the cheek.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Taryn nods, not trusting herself to speak.

“Send word if you need me, for anything — _please_ ,” Jude says.

Taryn closes her eyes at the sound of the plead.

“Okay.” Taryn says. She looks through the window again. The sky is all the brighter. “The cook will be here soon. You really must be going.”

Jude straightens up. This, she takes more seriously.

“Try to sleep. Don’t let— Just be careful.”

“I will be, I promise,” Taryn says.

Jude turns to go down the stairs, but, hand on the bannister, turns one last time to Taryn.

“Maybe talk to Madoc.” The trepidation is soaked into each word. But her face is drawn, serious, firm. “If anyone can make this go away, he can.”

Taryn nods, and listens to Jude’s footsteps recede down the steps, to the sound of the door.

She looks back at the carpet, evidence of the last time she relied too heavily on a man who pretended at love.

She might need Madoc’s help this time, but she knows now she’ll have to make sure she frees herself of that need, and soon.


End file.
